


How Does Your Garden Grow?

by Nightingalebird



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Courtship, Cultural Differences, Fluff and Angst, Greek Mythology AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingalebird/pseuds/Nightingalebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was an ordinary hobbit: an ordinary hobbit with a gentle hand for tending to gardens, and a skilled touch for all things that grow. He never thought himself particularly adventurous or peculiarly odd. Though he was content with the bounty and prosperity that he shared in, he would dream of life beyond the Shire, away from the safety of his stable walls and predictable days.</p><p>When the Raven King stumbles upon this hidden treasure, to the grandest garden he had ever seen, Bilbo is taken from his comfort of his home for an adventure beyond anything he could have expected. And soon safety is the only thing he dreams of.  </p><p>A kind-of AU inspired by the myth of Persephone and Hades-esque story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring in Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a roleplay between myself and a Thorin rper on Tumblr. (I am so sorry I have since lost your name.) After the rp fell through, I decided to try my hand at starting and finishing a long-running fic. I always loved the story of Persephone and Hades, and thought the parallels to Bilbo and Thorin would work wonderfully. 
> 
> It follows neither mythology perfectly, but rather blends them. I hope to give respect to each, without falling too far into the typical. I hope you all enjoy!

With Spring, came rebirth. The Earth shed the cover of snow, renewed those who had slept on, and brought life back to the cold abandonment that coupled Winter. The flowers bloomed with luster and vibrancy while the children of men and animal came out to relish in the sun’s warmth. When Spring came, so did the trees bear fruit, and mothers bear child. Spring was a time of prosperity, and as all those who dwelled within the safety of the Shire knew, it was a time for rejoicing. The first harvest festival boomed to life, reminding all in the lush rolling hills that Spring was in full bloom, and the time for fine pipe weed, crisp ale, and good friends was upon them.

The hobbits of the Shire lived out their lives in peace, faces round with a good day's meal and gentle manners for all they meet. They cared little for the on goings of the big folk, preferring a well seasoned trout over the luxury of gold, and remained all but unknown to those east of Bree. And, should you ask a hobbit what they thought of that, they’d undoubtedly say with a tip of their curled crowns, 'It is the way it’s meant to be.' 

The jovial music floated past the hills, all encompassing Hobbiton and even some of the neighboring towns. There was the smell of good food ready to be eaten, and the party would continued well into the night. It was a feast of fortune for the coming of spring, and it was a time everyone would rejoice: for it was a time that everything would grow.

While nearly every hobbit was enjoying the celebration, some preferred the quiet of their own homes, tucked into the hills and plains of rolling green. Among the Shirefolk, a woman as lean and tall as a tree walked slowly, each step seemed to float, each step into the Shire brought life. Her beauty was unparalleled by any of this plane, and when she appeared, those of the Shire could not help but stop to admire. Yavanna, Queen of the Earth, took great care of the hobbits; to shield her last remaining children from corruption, to preserve their innocent and peaceful nature.

She would keep them that way, no matter the cost.

Many were lost in her gaze, her fair skin and the splendor of her hair, but only one seemed too engrossed in other work that she was unnoticed. For a moment, the woman stood in admiration, eyes washing across the garden that rested at the very top of the large hill. Amidst the greenery was a small body, easily lost among blooms and veiled from many prying eyes. It was better this way, with her treasure hidden.

“It is beautiful,” Her voice was tender, smooth as a light rain and calm as a still water. Gently, her hand came to rest on his shoulder, coaxing the fair hobbit out of his work and to her attention. She had such love for her small boy, even to the rest of his kind he was well into his adulthood. They were her kin and the flesh of her own, they would always be her children. He sat back, offering Yavanna the most gracious smile, brushing beads of sweat from his brow at the hard labor. “Your talent is growing.” She cooed, voice near breathless as she gazed over the gardens. “I can feel the love you put forth.”

“I can only give what it returns,” He retorted, though his smile as broad as it might ever have been. Pushing from his knees, he stood, though his full height was nothing when compared to her stature. Idly, he measured his hand and realized he only reached her hip. He couldn't help but chuckle- always a child in her eyes.

Vaguely, he mused with the thought that she had planned it this way.

“You hardly make visits this far West, what is the occasion?” His small hands found his vest, brushing soil from a rounded stomach, though the gloves had only managed to make the stains worsen. He'd need to clean that out tonight, or this favorite vest of his may see it's last Spring.

“Coming to make sure what is mine is cared for.” She spoke it softly, delicate words as she pushed fallen curls out his face. He swatted her hand and his cheeks swollen with embarrassment. She laughed, a sound that could even the most ill tempered at ease. Her eyes swept past Bag End to the party that continued to echo through the valley, “And to enjoy some of the festivities.” From the expression of feigned surprise, he had most likely skipped the occasion. 

"That was today?" He tried, but a swift poke to his stomach made him recoil and her laughter flew through the winds.

“Fat on milk and honey, my dear?” He frowned and his lips pursed ever-so at her jest, but it was all in soothing fun. All in a mother’s care. “It is fair, you should be soft, my little one. One who brings life will mimic it.”

“Ah, so you say.” He sounded all the part of a son, to disagree on principal alone. “Far too many sweet foods to deny, and the pipe weed from last year was particularly good.” His grin was wide, even as the woman laughed once more and shook her head. "As was the ale."

“I don’t know if I approve of that.”

“Dear mother, there is nothing I do that you disapprove of.” It had her frowning. Such confidence from her small boy. She thought for but a moment before silently agreeing. Though she would not give him that satisfaction, and instead poked his belly once more. “Mother,” He near growled, but smiled despite the tease.

“I am glad to see you well, my boy.” She sat upon the earth, where she stilled the flowers bloomed and tomatoes began to plump and redden. Her visits always brought prosperity to the Shire, and Bilbo could only think of the sweet sauce he could make tonight in thanks to her presence. “The harsh winter always worries me for my children,” She paused and looked out again, at the hobbit she held so dear. She was lost in her own thought, “I fear I may come too late with Spring, and you should all be bitten by the frost.” All the young hobbit could do was laugh. She always thought them delicate, but the hobbits of the shire were far stouter than she gave them credit for. They could certainly last a winter, in the warmth of their hobbit holes.

Her conversation, however, was quick to turn serious.

“I may not return for a few moons, I have business in the East. I wanted to see how your work faired, but I never needed to worry about your skill.” Her smile was forlorn, though her eyes held a wariness. “Stay strong, will you? I feel as though Spring may be short this year.” Her eyes, warmth that compared to the sun, finally looked back over the valley. She cared for each hobbit, yet she worried harder for the young man in front of her. The hobbit that dared to dream of adventures far outside the borders of the Shire.

“You needn’t worry about us.” She smiled and gave his crown of caramel a gentle pat, her touch the tender caress of a mother cradling her babe. “We are not glass.” Despite his words, she did worry. She knew they grew, and as they did some even forgot her name, but they were still the children of green and she would watch over them for as long as they needed the earth.

A sudden explosion of sound caught his attention, and he turned towards the squealing children and rowdy adult. He felt the wind slip past him, and she was gone with the breeze.

Bilbo sighed.

She was always like that, more important business to attend. He supposed it fitting, but still it always left him with a heavy heart. She had not even made an appearance to the party. Or, perhaps she had, and he had simply missed it. “Bilbo! You missed the Harvest party!” One of the younger children, Tilly Twofoot, a petite girl with a wide smile and freckled cheeks, shouted up from the road. Her cheeks looked as wide as a chipmunk’s while she pouted up at the older hobbit.

“I will be sure not to make that mistake again, sweetling.” The young man returned the call, leaning over the rickety fence to return her smile. The children took to Bilbo as he did with them; they enjoyed the tales of far off places, of princes and kings, of elves and dragons, and Bilbo certainly enjoyed telling the tales.

“I should hope not.” The voice made the hair on Bilbo’s neck stand on end, and he turned to see the stout frame of Lobelia Bracegirdle. Hands to each hip, tapping her foot against the earth impatiently and into the leaves of his vegetable gardens, she stated, “Mighty rude not to show, especially with such a garden to delight in-” She gave a faint pause, eyes flittering to the plump tomatoes, “-To share in.”

At her words, a growl from his stomach caught his attention and he knew it was well past lunch, near closer to dinner. It was very unlike him to miss a meal. “Lobelia, I simply… lost track of time.” He spoke a truth, though a stretched one. If he was being entirely truthful, he’d admit his dread for the parties, opting for the solitude of his garden and warm hearth instead.

“Yes, well, even so!” Her cheeks swelled into a pout, dark brown curls falling out of place from beneath a white embroidered bonnet. “Not very neighborly to keep all your garden to yourself!” A smile spread across her face, somewhat pleased with herself as she looked across his vast greenery.

“I will be sure to attend the next festival,” The look she gave showed those words were not enough, “And, if you would care to join me for lunch sometime next week?” It was a struggle, to get those words out and make them sound genuine, but the smile that appeared on her plump cheeks was all the answer he needed.

“Very kind of you, Mister Baggins, but I am afraid I am busy next week.” She announced it as if Bilbo would be terribly disappointed; “Otho has invited me to his house for dinner.” This was the moment Bilbo was to presume a jealous gaze, but instead his stomach just rumbled at the mention of dinner.

He decided on a quick getaway.

“I hope you have a lovely time,” He muttered to her, though stepped past and to the door of Bag End, all while trying to ignore her scowl, “I’ll be sure to tell Otho to prepare your favorite dish,” Whatever it was, Otho knew better than him “Good day to you, Lobelia.”

“Just you wait Bilb-“

“I really must be going! Have a nice night!” The door closed, and before anymore words could be exchanged he had taken hold of the centered handle and locked the door with a heavy sigh. Must he really be forced to handle that woman much longer? He thought of his cousin Otho and shuttered. He was a strong lad, but even he must be struggling. Truthfully, he wasn't all that sure what it was he saw in her. Perhaps she baked a lovely meal. That would be enough for any hobbit man to fall weak in the knees.

Finally, as he brushed down his pants and dirtied blue best, the young hobbit turned to his warm home. The inviting smell of burning balsam wood floating from the crackling fireplace, scattered books across the foyer and a kitchen ready to be used. Tonight he would enjoy the bounties of his fruitful garden, just how he liked it, without company.


	2. Visitor at Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friendships rekindled and hushed whispers, but who has come to visit at such a late hour?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shouldn't have taken me so long, but of course with the holidays and all I got completely bogged down. I do hope some of you are still with me and enjoy this chapter! I'm hoping they'll come at a quicker rate now.

The morning came far too soon, but still the young hobbit pushed himself from the comfort of his bed and into the chill morning air. Feet touched to cold hard wood and a shutter rippled down his spine, quickly leaving the comfort and warmth of sheets and blankets to pull on a morning robe. Sluggish steps to the kitchen, feet trudging from a comforting rug to the chilly wood while a wide yawn spilled from his lips.

With the kettle filled and fire started, plate put out and eggs and bacon taken from the pantry, all before the hobbit even fully opened his eyes. As the green blinked to adjust to the rising sun, Bilbo slowly began to come into his own, waking for the day with the smell of spice and sizzling bacon. It was the perfect way to wake up in the morning, urged out of sleep with the smells that made your mouth water.

Birds began sing as the sun rose higher into the sky, Bilbo watched the pan carefully, taking care not to overcook his fresh eggs. A few pieces of cheese added and with a swift whisk the eggs fluffed and formed his perfect breakfast. Plate set, napkin tucked, just as Bilbo sat to enjoy, a knock came to the door. He had every reason to ignore it, and truly had to wrestle with his manners to stand and leave the comforting, sizzling bacon behind.

“It is quiet early, who could possibly be at my do-“ He had been murmuring to himself, though the moment he opened the door he stopped in his tracks. A tall man, much taller than many he’d seen in his life, with a pointed hat and great white beard. Blue eyes twinkled with curiosity as he poked his head through the door, glancing across the home, clearly in search of something.

It all caught Bilbo off guard and the little hobbit stepped backward into his home, closing his robe and clearing his throat, “M-May I help you?” His sputter only elicited a laugh from the man, who reached out to lean against the doorframe, a wooden staff creaking under his weight. He had not seen what he wanted, and relaxed in the presence of the young man.

“Bilbo Baggins, look at you.” He’d seen the mouth gap open and close as Bilbo tried to interrupt and regain some footing, but Gandalf had been wise enough to never give him the chance. “I remember when you were just a little sprout.” He stepped inside without invitation, causing the hobbit to shuffle back and give an indignant snort. “Do you not recognize me?”

“I am sorry, sir, I… I don’t have a faintest idea of who you are.” The man gave a funny chuckle and stood within Bag End’s breezeway, eyes drifting across the small home with what Bilbo took to be familiarity.

“Still have Belladonna’s curtains, your mother had good taste.” His words took Bilbo by surprise, and the hobbit’s lips fell open, a fish gapping that couldn’t seem to find words. “My boy, I am Gandalf, and I think I am in the need of a rest.” Bilbo stirred from the initial shock and he found himself suddenly pacing across the hallway, closing the round door with a sedate click and making a face at the sudden trail of mud down the freshly cleaned wood panels.

“Look here, if this is some kind of joke, you will be sorely mistaken! Bringing my mother into this, who do you think you ar- … oh, Gandalf?” A sudden recognition of the name, to summer nights with grand parties and booming fireworks that lit the entire night sky. “Gandalf, my goodness, it has been ages.” He had been only a child, and yet still could remember those nights. How unfortunate Gandalf had remained away from the Shire, the Took parties would have been much more delightful with his touch of flare. “You could have…” Bilbo lost his words as the wizard strode through his home, leaning forward and awkwardly weaving through the dining room, careful of his head against chandeliers and the ceiling. Finally, he settled into a too-small seat with a creak of old bones.

Bilbo eyed the wizard, whose frame was large enough that even seated the pointy hat brushed his ceiling. Over all, the sight was rather comical, and Bilbo chuckled, “My home is not really built for you… big folk.”

“Yes, yes, that I can see, now my boy. Come, I have not made a visit to share pleasantries.” The wizard was none too concerned with them, as he took the plate of still steaming eggs and stole a sliver of bacon. “I came to see how you were doing. Tell me, what have you been up to?” The pair rekindled old times, while Bilbo cooked another plate of cheese coated eggs and crisp bacon. Soon the plates were empty, seconds were served, and the pair were laughing as old friends usually do.

“You have not had any… unexpected visitors, my dear fellow?” Gandalf asked, tilting a small glass back of warm, steaming tea to his lips. Refreshing and lingering with spice, it was an aroma one did not find on the road and Gandalf indulged.

“You mean other than yourself?” The wizard eyed him with amusement, “No, things have been quiet here. The Spring has proven fruitful, and we are well cared for here in the Shire.” The hobbit nibbled the last slice of bacon, leaning back with a full belly and a relaxed smile.

A pipe had been lit, a window cracked and Gandalf released a smoke ring, “That is not quite what I meant, but I am glad to know you are well.” While he said nothing to counter, Bilbo eyed him suspiciously. What kind of guest should he have welcomed? Or, were they the unwelcomed sort? “I should be carrying on-“ Ignoring a small protest of ‘You just got here!’ Gandalf continued, “I have been making my way to the Blue Mountains, urgent news to bring.” Though not very urgent, it would seem. “Though…” His eyes wandered to the pantry, focusing on a barrel of Southfarthing. “I may overstay my welcome.”

Bilbo clapped his hands together, “It’s decided then.” The young hobbit stood, shuffling over to his kettle to pour another cup of tea. “You can stay as long as you wish, I do not get many visitors, but I think a wizard such as yourself will bring some enjoyment to Spring festivals.” Bilbo began to carry on, of fireworks that looked of dragons and how it would be wonderful to have an honored guest for the Sunday festivities, that even Lobella would find acceptable.

“Alright, alright,” Gandalf laughed, a low and deep sound that vibrated through the small home, “I will return, but I have one less means of business to attend. Bree is only a days ride from here, I should be able to finish my things and be back in time.” It only gave him four days, but a wizard always made good on his word. As ambiguous and vague as it may be.

It all transpired rather quickly, and soon Bilbo found himself bidding Gandalf a safe and easy journey and turning to his once more empty home. A glance at the clock told him it was past lunch, that their conversations had left time unnoticed and even a now rumbling tummy content. Though far too short, to have company had been rather nice, if he was perfectly honest. Bilbo smiled to himself, and finally began to prepare for the day.

He was very late for his morning activities.

A trip across the way brought him to the fisherman’s cart, which had been plucked clean save for some the smallest and scraggly catches. Still, Bilbo purchased and carried on. He was friendly to neighbors, even some of the more annoying sorts that rumored of a big-folk with a pointed hat being seen coming out of Bag End. Strange company to have, they warned, and Bilbo simply waved his hand and sent them off.

A stop at Otho’s proved suspicion right. Lobella was, indeed, to have dinner with him in two days time. It called for a spot of pipeweed. “That is a fine… catch, you’ve go there.”

“I do not need your grip, Bilbo Baggins.” Otho shot back, fierce expression melting to joke. “She is a fine girl, I myself fancy her quite a bit.” He took in a deep inhale and released a single smoke ring.

Bilbo could think of nothing worse than to fancy that woman, but then again he had never found himself fancying many. Confirmed Bachelor and all. “I am…” He had many things he could have said, but Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek, “Happy for you.” And he was, for if anyone could make Lobella happy it would be his dear cousin. “Have you thought of the dinner to make her? Do be sure to take out the Sunday silverware.”

Otho snorted, tapping the end of his pipe while he decidingly did not answer. “So what is this news of a wizard in your company?” A strategic change of subject, and Bilbo took the bait.

Chewing the end of his pipe, Bilbo muttered, “My goodness, news travels fast.”

“You expected it not to? Not with that kind of visitor.”

“It was Gandalf, Otho.” Bilbo much have expected his cousin to recognize the name, but with the blank stare he received the other hobbit scoffed, “The wizard with the fireworks.”

“Oh! Oh yes, of course.” Still, it was obviously Otho did not recall the name. “That wizard.” They both chuckled and Bilbo turned his eye to the sun. “Do be careful though, will you?”

“Mm? Careful of what?”

“Strangers. There’s been… strange talk, lately. Visitors to the Shire that shouldn’t be here. I don’t think you should be named a welcomer of them.” Otho sucked at the end of his pipe, quick and heavy spurts as he thought on the rumors he’d heard floating across town.

“I’ll be sure to lock my door and pin up a sign.” The pair shared a laugh, and before long Bilbo was biding his cousin good luck for his dinner, but that he should be getting on to preparing his own. That, and attending the garden that he had avoided since yesterday.

There were few things that demand, nay needed, undivided and complete attention as a garden did. A plant could wilt in hours, and a fruit could rot in minutes if you would not careful. It was no secret among the inhabitants of the shire that Bilbo owned one of the most magnificent gardens, billowing down the side of Bag End, across the hill and down into it’s valley. It was the perfect spot, with the sun always kissing it’s side and still protected from some of the harsher elements. It was the young Baggin’s pride.

After the walk from Otho’s, and a quick snack, the blue jacket he wore was shed and into the crisp, warm earth he dug. Plucking weeds and trimming browns, finding a few tomatoes that had ripened thanks to Yavanna’s lingering presence, the young hobbit was soon lost in his work, and hours ticked by.

He need only a few more weeds to pluck and give life to the tomatoes that grew more red than any stone. He knelt back to his work, lost in thought and time as nimble hands took to the roots and aided his garden to life. The sun in the distance began to make its decent over the mountains, and the shadows deepened within the earth.

He smiled at his handiwork, but a snap caught his attention and Bilbo stood, with time only to catch sight of a stranger to the Shire, a man dawning jewels and shimmering armor of the likes Bilbo had never seen. Soft green locked with fridge blue, and kept the hold to where it stunned the small hobbit into silence.

Bilbo was quick to try and bring himself to a better state, push the earth from his knees and vest, for this man was adorned in jewels and wealth, and even his hair was beaded with fine gold. He was impressive, not as tall as the humans but how he held himself was a thing to demand respect. It was his stature was not what drew attention, however. He radiated strength and dignity, in such a manner it made the hobbit shiver. “Sir?” His voice was patient, even as the ice blues pierced him through. Emerald eyes fell to the crushed flower beneath a large, iron decorated boot, and the trail of flattened herbs he had created. Silence had drawn on long enough, and finally Bilbo found the strength to speak, “You’ve… crushed my roses.”


	3. Perception and Perseverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions are not always right, but as the night progresses and wine flows, tension relaxes, even if it not the wisest decision.

“I said, you’ve crushed my roses.”

A spurt of courage had the hobbit repeating himself, taking a shuffling step forward, large feet making hardly a sound as they stepped into the small path. The dwarf, swimming in jewels and riches, only continued to stare with sharp, sapphires towards the petite hobbit. Bilbo had heard stories of dwarves, read about them in aged texts, of their treasures and great wealth. He had heard rumors of a Raven King, with hair of night and eyes of stars, who ruled under the soil, in what they named the Underworld.

Bilbo did not think of these rumors with the man in front of him, he only saw a stranger stepping on his beloved flowers. “Would you move your foot? My goodness, are you so thick?” Finally, the dwarf was pulled from whatever state he had been in and tore his eyes from the hobbit. Eyes glanced down to the crimson beneath his shoe, as one might look at an insect. It took great effort to hold his tongue, but Bilbo kept silent as he watched the dwarf lift his boot and carefully step away from those blooms not trampled.  

Looking at the small rose he had crushed, the dwarf stood silently again, raising the suspicion in Bilbo that he might indeed be daft. At the very least the stranger made sure not to make the same mistake, “You have my apologizes, Halfling.”

He spoke, and it was his voice that shook Bilbo to his very core. The sound was deep and warm, rumbled through the man’s chest and vibrated out like the strength of the turning tide. Instantly, Bilbo’s eyes fell to his feet and he shuffled in place. “Well, n-now, that’s fine. No harm,” He rambled, 

“I heard of treasures within the Shire,” His eyes flickered to Bilbo in a manner that made the hobbit’s cheek flush, “Though I do believe their words did no justice.” The stranger’s hand ran across the face of another rose, cherishing its beauty as one might a lover. “This garden is the most beautiful I have ever seen. Please, Halfling, tell me who owns it.”

Compliments he had not been expecting, and Bilbo let out a tiny, nervous laugh. “Well, Gamgee will from time to time, but most days this is my garden. I am its owner.” He stood straighter, a little taller, a proud smile suddenly sported at his lips. The dwarf seemed to ponder his words, eyes sweeping through the garden and finally back to the small hobbit that stood before him.

“Do you think you would be able to make a garden this grand again?”

“Well, of course. Though the Sackville-Baggins will disagree, I could grow a sprout in a desert.” It seemed a bit vain, but Bilbo prided himself on his garden.

“And you say this is the best garden in the Shire?" 

“Ah, well, I might not say something like that.”

“I have seen many, and they pale in comparison.” 

Bilbo gave a wave of his hand with embarrassment, smiling at the mere thought of his garden being the most splendid in all the Shire. “Ah, well, I appreciate the compliment, Master Dwarf. I have been told that, but I find it a bit unlikely.”

“It is settled then, you shall accompany me to Erebor as my Gardener.” The gruff tone of his voice left no room for argument. He spoke as if papers were signed and the deal already struck, but left the small hobbit sputtering for a response and gapping at the audacity of it all. 

“E-Excuse me?” A faint pip, all the color from his face had drained. “No, I think there is a mistake, I am not leaving, I-“

“Come now, an adventure to a new land, I shall bath you in riches like you have never seen.” It sounded… exciting, if he was being perfectly honest. It was, in fact, the most exciting thing he’d heard in ages. What a grand thought, to have a real adventure, the likes he had only dreamed of in times past. The riches did little for him, but it would be something to tell at his own tales. But what was he thinking, he was a Gentlehobbit of the Shire and had no time for adventures. “Now, we can leave in the morning, do you have accommodations for the night?”

An exasperated huff and a stomp of his foot, Bilbo could barely let his mind reach what squeaked out of his mouth. What a privileged child, to think he could simply demand and get what he desired. “I shall not be bullied by you in such a way! Who do you think you are?” 

“I am a King.” 

Oh… Bilbo’s rant halted for just a moment. Nevertheless, what a preposterous reply it was! The small hobbit took hold of the ends of his shirt with tight fists, “That may be, but you are not _my_ King.” His hands twisted together, nerves spurring him into silence for just the briefest of moments, “And as a King,” He indulged his thoughts, which would most likely cause some aggravation, “I think you should respect the voice of others. You did not even ask me if I wished to go.” What was he saying, he was most defiantly not going. He could not simply abandon his life here because some dwarf came and wanted his green thumb. King or not. It didn’t work like that, Bilbo would not be treated as some entity to be plucked and carted off to some foreign la- 

“You are coming, how much will it take?” Impassive ignorance with a gruff voice that had not changed infliction, and it infuriated Bilbo.

“You are missing the point, your stubborn dwarf! I do not wish to go.” Oh, what had he just said? Well, there was no point in stopping now, “Respect my answer as such and find yourself another to garden, but I am not that per-“

“Enough!” A roar shook Bag End and made Bilbo instinctively flinch. Never had the hobbit felt so overpowered by just a spoken word. “I was polite, Halfling, but you are now being unreasonable.”

”Unreasonable, why you are the one who is-“

“I said enough, Halfling.” He had stepped closer; towering over Bilbo with such ferocity in his blue orbs it finally silenced the smaller man. He reached forward, a calloused hand tattered from years of work took hold of the small, now quivering shoulder. The hold was gentle, and yet rooted Bilbo in his place, held him without ability to move. “You shall be my companion to Erebor. You shall build me a grand garden that will be the envy of all. Do you understand?”

The only response was a weak, petrified nod.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t even know your name.” It was the first thing he’d said since the pair had moved from their altercation in the garden, to the kitchen of his home. The sun had set, leaving the earth blanketed in a thick darkness that Bilbo felt was abnormal. Though, perhaps this entire day had been a bit out of the ordinary. At the very pit of his stomach, he had a feeling it was this dwarf that Gandalf searched for this morning. 

The silence had been almost unbearable, and the anxiety built as the minutes ticked on. The dwarf, seated in what was usually Bilbo’s chair, chewed on the end of his pipe while the hobbit began to prepare dinner.

Cool blues eyed the hobbit, who was nearly pacing in the kitchen as the busied himself with chopping vegetables and preparing a meal for two, “Thorin.” The hobbit had muttered something about having only one fish and not anticipating guests, but Thorin ignored his off-cuff murmurs. “And what about you, Master Hobbit, what is your name? Or shall you just continue to huff and puff?” He smirked as it got a rise out of the little thing.

“My name is Bilbo Baggins and I am doing no such thing.” He paused when he realized he had huffed the response. Looking to the dwarf, knife in hand and lips turned into a persistent frown, Bilbo said more evenly, “You are just a most unexpected visitor and I don’t care much for surprises.” He wanted to ask many things. Ask if this dwarf truly intended to steal him in the middle of the night, ask if this crazy adventure he had concocted was just some kind of miserable joke. (If it was, the hobbit was not laughing.)

Thorin smirked, stroking a thick, black beard as he continued to eye the hobbit. Bilbo didn’t like it much, the way he was looked at, but he ignored it. Must have been a dwarf thing. “Master Baggins, it is a delight to meet you.”

“Such formalities do not become you.” Bilbo shot back, aggressively chopping onions, ignoring the sting to his eyes and the tears that slowly developed. Thorin chuckled, took another long drag of his pipe and gazed into the fire. “Are you going to just sit and watch, or will you make yourself useful and give me a hand?”

Thorin stirred, eyes widening in shock at the audacity of the little hobbit’s proclamation. No one spoke to him like that, and yet this little creature he’d stumbled upon was standing, tears in eyes and wielding naught but a cooking knife, ordering him around like a commoner. It was refreshing. “I do think I enjoy watching.” He muttered, just to see cheeks puff up and a frown deepen in response.

Thorin did not help prepare the meal, much to Bilbo’s annoyance, though he did get up to pour them both a fair helping of good wine. It was nice, to have company, even if they were strangers. Since the incident outside, Thorin seemed rather kind. Still, the hobbit thought of the dwarf that demended he acompany him, and it made him cautious. What kind of man made that kind of demand? As the stew came to steam, the hobbit tasted it with a smile of satisfaction, only to hear Thorin ask, “Are you a fine cook as well, Gardener?” 

“No, I am afraid I am not as good under the heat of a stove. I have been told my pastries are fair, though.” He paused to turn his attention to the dwarf, “Would you care to taste this? See if it is to your liking?” What Bilbo had not expected, however, was for Thorin to walk so slowly towards him, take up his hand that still cradled the spoon, and sip the soup from the same helping he’d tasted just a moment ago.

Too close and too intimate for the hobbit’s taste. He had not been so close to another since his mother, and she was long gone from his life. To think, a stranger of all people, would have the audacity to make such a gesture. Perhaps, again, Bilbo thought to himself, it was a dwarf thing. “It’s delicious.” Thorin had said, releasing the hobbit’s hand and taking his place at the dinner table. 

It had to have been, for the dwarf seemed little phased… Gathering his thoughts, Bilbo sank back his helping of wine, poured two generous bowls of stew, and poured himself another helping of wine. Wordlessly, the two began to eat.

“Are you really a King?” Bilbo asked, finally breaking the silence.

The dwarf pondered him for a moment, “Did you believe me when I said it?” 

“No.” Thorin laughed heartily at the feisty hobbit’s quick response, watching him while he continued to busy himself in the kitchen. “You’re a right liar and not a very good one at that, Master Thorin.” Bilbo thought, with a heat of wine in his belly, that Thorin was not a bad dwarf. 

“And you are a very strange hobbit, Master Baggins.” The pair shared a laugh, though dinner remained rather quiet. It seemed both were drowning in their own thoughts.  While their meals finished, Bilbo took a second helping and made Thorin raise a single brow.  Where did the little thing put it all? “It would be cruel to see you on the road,” He muttered, leaning forward to rest his chin in his palm. Bilbo glanced to him, raising a single brow while a sliver of zucchini hung from his lips. “Too soft.”

“Hey-“

“You called me a liar, I am rightfully allowed to return the insult.” Bilbo thought on those words before he nodded to agree. It was a fair enough statement.  Thorin took another long gulp of wine and Bilbo followed suit. Bilbo was now on his forth glass, and his cheeks had turned a faint shade of red. This was now a competition, though Thorin seemed unphased, “I may revisit my ideas of a grand garden, despite my father’s wishes.”

“Well, perhaps I can find time in my schedule.” The hobbit chuckled, finally stealing another glance to the handsome dwarf. Handsome. Blibo blinked a few times to right his head. No thinking like that. Quickly, he set the wine back on the table.  “Though I do appreciate your honesty, the false King act did not suit you.”

Thorin only chuckled into his mug. “Cannot hold your liquor, eh, little one?” Bilbo had a mind to say he was not all that little, at least when compared to other hobbits, to disagree and scold the dwarf for rudeness, but all that came out was a tiny giggle.

“Oh, goodness. Look at me,” A hand to his mouth to try and diminish embarrassment, “I think I should call it a night.” He began to ramble about setting up the spare bed for Thorin, to show him where it was and how to find it, but Thorin eased his worries, a strong hand to his shoulder and a simple, ‘I can handle myself, sleep well, Master Baggins’. The hobbit nodded, a yawn overtaking him as he walked slowly to his bedroom. He hadn’t even the energy to change, falling into the comforters and curling up for the night. His last whisper, faint and softly muttered into the pillow, “Goodnight, Thorin.”


	4. Children of Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my absurdly long time away! I was recently promoted at work, and it was all thanks to crazy dedication and working hours that nearly reached one hundred some weeks. This left me little to no time to do anything fun, but I have finally struck a good balance in my life, and it’s renewed my desire to write! (Perhaps a little help can be attributed to the movie opening) Anyway, I’ve poured myself into continuing and have restarted with a chapter that will really kick things off! I hope you all enjoy!

Light poured in through a circular window, tinted glass doing nothing to shield eyes from the strong afternoon sun. It was the first thing that greeted Bilbo as he stirred out of sleep. The second was a panic for the late hour. “What time is-” Memories of the night rushed back at him, and he bolted upright, only to groan and return to the comfort of his pillow. He’d be nursing this headache for a good portion of the day, and cursed the sun for being up so early. 

He must have been drinking a bit too much. All of the festivities for Spring, his garden tending, and the dwarf. 

The dwarf. 

Bilbo stirred from under layers of blankets, peeking out and finally letting his eyes adjust. Thorin. Bilbo remember his name as if he had only just spoken in, with the voice like rumbling boulders and jewels encrusted on every part of his magnificent frame. Everything about the dwarf had stuck to his memory, and Bilbo longed to linger in that dream just a moment longer. 

A bird’s song, however, had much other ideas. The hobbit stealthily pulled himself from the bed, tiptoeing through the threshold of his bedroom, worried that waking a sleeping dwarf would be as terrible as waking a sleeping dragon. Once he had finally turned the corner of his hall, searching around bends and into rooms, he came to realize how quiet his hobbit hole was.

It must have been a dream.

“Hello?” Finally, Bilbo conjured enough courage to speak into the quiet. His voice echoed, but there was no return, even as he called into the empty home a second time, “Thorin?” 

Short, tentative steps took him across his kitchen, peering across the pantry and into the dining area. It was spotless and pristine. As empty as it had ever been. Bilbo’s hand swept across the wood table, searching for any sign of spilled wine or the sight of the crumbs from the shared dinner that he could still smell. The brewing stew, the brush of skin as it was tasted. Bilbo physically shook his head to rid himself of the thought, none of that.

Steps took him back into the living room, where he sank into his favorite armchair. He stared at it’s weathered red, to the pulls in fabric and a single tear that had been stitched up poorly. A stain from spilled ale and a burn from a dropped pipe. He had kept it even through all those times of age and wear, but now felt devoid of even comfort. It was the one that Thorin had watched him from- where those piercing eyes had never strayed from their scrutinizing. 

Strange, how such a dream had captured him so intently, with memories that had felt so real he could still feel it’s warmth. 

Beyond strange was how such a dream left a lingering solitude heavy on his heart.

Bilbo resigned himself to believing it had been a dream, one fueled by wine and Spring festivities. He began his day like any other, first dressing himself for the morning and making himself a plentiful breakfast. It was well past his Second Breakfast, so Bilbo cooked himself an egg more than usual, and as the bacon began to sizzle in the pan he threw a few extra slices of that as well, telling himself he was simply finishing what was left from the day before. 

A cup of milk and honey, to help ease some of the night’s headache, and then a warm cup of tea to start the day. He was getting a late start, but after the Spring Festival, Bilbo doubted many were going to be particularly cheery in the coming days.

By the afternoon, as he readied himself to go to the market, he had all but forgotten about dwarfs and adventures.

Once Bilbo had pulled on a nice blue jacket, the young hobbit took the short stroll from Bag End into the market, mind still unsettled by that dream. A Gardener for a stubborn dwarf… A stubborn dwarf King, as he’d proclaimed. Bilbo scoffed to himself, nearly laughed, at the idea. So silly, really, to get so swept up in some fantasy. 

Taking up his pipe, Bilbo had a nice smoke as he walked down winding roads and blooming gardens. He couldn’t help his eyes from wandering, to take in the splendor of all the other greenery. His garden was cherished, but hardly as grand as some. Again, what was a silly thing… to think he had made anything so grand. 

“Good morning,” He greeted a few that he passed, though each seemed to be giving him the same peculiar look. A stare too long, not a hint of reception. Possibly since he’d missed all the festivities.

Everything seemed to going nicely, at least until Hamfast Gamgee cut him off, grabbing the Baggins’ shoulders and looking all but distraught. He looked as if he’d seen a troll! “Mister Bilbo!” The sheer panic in his voice had Bilbo stopping in his stride. “They’re all talking, you see! Blamin’ you, o’ course! I told ‘em right, Mister Baggins would never get in with those types. But, oh, I don’t know what kind of trouble you got fit with-” Hamfast was a good hobbit, but he sense of telling a tale always seemed lacking. Now, it seemed, he hadn’t realized he’d been rambling through the story, but had failed to start from the beginning. 

“My dear Gaffer,” Bilbo put a hand to his shoulder, if only to calm the continued spew of words. “Calm yourself,” He added when Hamfast continued about a ruckus in the market. “Relax, and tell me what is this happening in the market?” 

“The dwarves!” 

The sudden declaration had Bilbo’s face draining of color, and his breathing constricted tight in his chest. “What?” Bilbo gapped, greens widening as Hamfast continued to ramble about how Lobelia would have his head and that the market was overrun with a dozen, rowdy dwarves. Bilbo couldn’t help but get lost in his own thoughts. 

Dwarves, Hamfast had said. Not one, but many. Just what was going on? “Hamfast,” Bilbo interrupted another bout of frantic shouting, “You go home, now. I’ll… clean up the mess.”

Had he only realized the mess he was about to walk into.

The market was in chaos, with a troop of dwarves towering over the shopkeepers and timid hobbits. “What is the meaning of this?” He asked to no one in particular, searching through the faces and beards for the one he might recognize. “What are you dwarves doing here?”

“Mister Baggins! They’ve been looking for you!” Bill Twofoot announced with utter admonishment, pulling a handful of fish away from a particularly menacing looking dwarf. A normally calm man, he seemed up in arms to protect his fish from eager hands. “And they are demanding we feed them for near nothing.” 

“Your prices are unreasonable, I’m not payin’ a lick more for some grubby vegetables.” One of the dwarves had finally said something, though it caused another series of outraged remarks from the more courageous hobbits. 

However, what the hobbit had said seemed to finally click with the blond dwarf, who had braids in his mustache and a brilliant blue robe. He looked back at Bilbo with widened blue eyes, “You are Mister Baggins? We have been looking for you!” He excitedly took Bilbo’s hands, “You hear? This is Mister Baggins!”

“M-Me?” Bllbo stuttered, taking a single step back as the dwarves all began to stand before him, each one seemed to now be closing in. “I am… c-certain… must be, a mistake of…” He couldn’t quiet the stutter and shake in his voice, “How do you know my name?” Bilbo asked incredulously, pulling his green vest tight across his middle as he pulled away from the eager dwarf.

The many dwarves turned to look at each other, and then again down at Bilbo. They were muttering to one another in a language Bilbo did not understand, and the more they looked, pointed, and muttered the more Bilbo got the assumption that they were talking poorly about him. “See here, you all should at least be polite and answer my quest-“

“Oh, yes! Sorry there, Mister Boggins,” Another dwarf spoke up, younger than the rest with barely a wisp of bear on his chin, “Thorin, of course! Told us everything!” He beamed, very proud to be able to answer.

Thorin. So it hadn’t been dream at all.

The dwarf in question was no where to be seen among the others, though Bilbo looked across every face to seek the one he knew. “Mister Bilbo,” Bill finally spoke up again, smacking another hand away from his fish, “What are you to do about... them?” He asked, thumbing to the dwarves, as if Bilbo had all the answers, as if he knew exactly what to do, “They took a good deal of vegetables… and paid very little.”

“I will pay.” Bilbo answered, shaking his head, “I will… pay for damages as well, you know I am good for it, Bill.” He muttered, green eyes suddenly sharp as they peered across the sea of dwarves. “And should they still be hungry, I will… see them at Bag End for supper, and whatever else they need.” An uproar of excitement came from the dwarves, and it startled Bilbo enough that he jumped. 

“See that! Just as kind as Thorin said!”

“Not all hobbits are dirt grubbers after all!”

“I thought he’d be taller…”

“Do you think we have to return the fish now…?”

They spoke among themselves, not bothering to think that every hobbit within earshot could hear them. Bilbo didn’t particularly care for some of the comments being shared between the group, but his plans of buying a good meal for himself were now dashed. He apologized a few times to shopkeepers, and tried to quickly alleviate the problems: which would mean making his way back to Bag End. 

“Well,” He stated to the group with a single stomp of his foot, “Lets go then. Don’t be dawdling.” They all listened intently, as if they hung on Bilbo’s every word, and they waited until Bilbo began to walk, and one by one, the dwarves followed. 

The way back up the hill was in silence. Bilbo couldn’t help but feel a weight on his chest that he’d never before experienced. The hobbits about all quickly rushed to their homes, closed doors and locked shutters. All eyes were on him, like a mother duck leading her children. Though that idea had Bilbo smiling, since these ducklings were rather large and imposing. As Bilbo looked back he smirked to himself, since with all their armor and weapons, they were waddling, too. 

The unlikely group reached Bag End rather quickly, and Bilbo lead them up the small path, “Welcome to Bag End,” Bilbo stated softly, keeping his manners even if the dwarves didn’t appreciate them. “If you all would like to make yourselves comfortable inside, I will-“

“Look at all that food!” 

“I don’t care much for the green stuff.”

“We’ll need it all for the journey back, lad.” 

They’d cut off his pleasantries, and again they were talking among themselves, as if Bilbo wasn’t there at all. Before long, they had moved past the hobbit and began to take heavy steps into the garden.

“Now, listen here, I will collect enough for all of yo-” He grabbed the arm of a particularly large dwarf, with a shaven head and tattoos of the likes Bilbo had never seen. “My garden is not yours to simply take,” but he was shaken off and had such a severe look about him the little hobbit shuttered. The group marched like foot soldiers up the narrow path, pushing past his wooden gate to enter his beloved greenery. 

“You won’t need it, lad, and you said yourself you’d help prepare for our meals,” The voice came from a dwarf with a wide smile and braided hair that stuck out at either side. 

“That I said! But I did not mean for you to plunder at your will!” Heavy boots took to tender soil, crushing beneath them vine and stem, of plants that had not yet sprouted and those already bloomed. 

“No! Oh, stop it!” Bilbo couldn’t pick which dwarf to scold, looking across his garden as each of them began to pick the branches clean. Tomatoes that had reddened ripe and those whose green tint spoke of time still needed to grow, cucumbers, corn, strawberries, and eggplants. 

“Stop it!” Bilbo’s anger erupted in shouts and hurried shuffles between the massive frames of each dwarf. “I said stop! Those are not yours to- oh, not the cucumbers, they’re not ready!” Bilbo grabbed the arm of one dwarf, only to be ignored entirely, as if he wasn’t standing there at all. “You’re trampling the flowers- my roses-” Sharp green eyes turned across the path, silenced as hardened boots stepped and scattered crimson blooms. 

“Please,” Finally, a gentle plea came from the hobbit as he watched and they still failed to heed him. None were saved from the dwarves hands. Greedy hands that took and stripped and all Bilbo could do was stand in quiet horror, mouth opened but all the shouts had left him. Once the last took his fill, with arms stuffed and bags brimming over, the garden was bare. In that moment, Bilbo felt a hatred for all these blasted dwarves. 

Bilbo crumpled to the dirt, feeling a sadness sweep over him, and a sudden chill in the spring air had him shivering. It was as if they cared none for his garden, Thorin had prized a garden well kept and stunning, as if he had cared and cherished the love Bilbo had poured into every sprout. These dwarves had destroyed it. 

Small hands reached forward and took up a single rose, untouched and yet stripped of its vine. 

“Laddie,” A voice interrupted his thoughts, and Bilbo turned to see a dwarf with a beard so white and long it tucked into the belt of his waistcoat. The dwarf caught sight of the slight hobbit, looking over a ruined garden, with tears brimming over in eyes as green as the forest. 

“Ah… the boys made a right mess, I see.” Bilbo made naught a sound, but a shuttering gurgle from the back of his throat was akin to a sob. The quiet embarrassment only made the tears fall harder. “Oh, laddie,” A warm hand rested at his shoulder, “Try to forgive them,” He whispered, and chuckled as Bilbo scoffed, “Or at least understand. They are Children of Stone… Aulë did not place in us a love for green.” Bilbo could not understand, and his frown grew even deeper. 

There was a faint pause from the older dwarf, and a knowing smile spread across his aged face, “But even Aulë has fallen victim to the beauty of Spring.” Bilbo finally turned his attention up to the dwarf, and faint curiosity took over him. Still… Even those who did not love something could at least respect it. 

“All will turn out alright.” Bilbo silently cursed him, angrily pushing away tears that had swelled and fallen. What would he possibly know? “Wonderful things they are, gardens.” Bilbo turned his attention to him fully now, even with narrowed green eyes, “Strong and beautiful, resilient beyond measure. They can prosper in even the darkest of ages, withstand the most dire of storms, bloom after the rages and desolation of fire… And with the right hand, they will always return.” 

Bilbo sniffed in once, but relived when the tears had stopped and left him with some of his pride intact. “Thank you,” He managed to get out in a voice barely above a whisper. Eyes a touch reddened, he bowed meagerly towards the taller man, “I'm Bilbo,” They had already known his name, but it felt proper to introduce himself, “Bilbo Baggins.”

“Aye, my name is Balin, my dear boy, and I am at your service.”


	5. Hand in the Dark

“So, why don’t you and I go inside for dinner?” Balin tugged thoughtfully at his beard, looking forward at the night swept across the hills. With shadows dusting across the green, stars just beginning to dot the sky: the Shire was alive even as darkness settled over it. Lanterns bloomed to life, the shouts of mothers calling their children to supper, the laughter and chrill of crickets singing their night song. It was far and away from the rest of the world, so unlike the hard labors the dwarves had endured. A peaceful existence, a gentle life- 

His gaze settled on the little hobbit, who was giving him a bit of a glare with annoyance puffing his cheeks out. Was it truly fair to rip a flower from its soil, just to watch it wither in a vase? 

“You mean you wish to invite me into my own home?” Bilbo snapped, drawing Balin from his thoughts. What a fierce one. Still, the hobbit’s tone held the defeat as he cast a downtrodden glimpse back at his garden. “Sorry,” He was mumbling the words before his mind could properly catch up, “That was rude. Terribly so. Though I must know, is this kind of behavior… um… customary of dwarves? To… to…-” He couldn’t help but look back at his garden, but a particularly loud boast of laughter pulled his attention to his hobbit hole, “-to barge into another’s home?” 

Balin laughed, even as a sour expression crossed over Bilbo’s face. “Laddie, you haven’t the faintest.” He found himself saying, “Though I will give them a talking to for the way they handled your garden.” 

“I can talk for myself plenty, thank you.” Bilbo stated with a cross of his arms, and Balin gave him a peculiar look, “Now… you are welcomed into my home,” He stated to the now grinning dwarf, “Not the other way around.” He let himself nod to agree with his own words, and closed the short distance between the garden and his front door. As Bilbo stepped through the threshold, however, be barely recognized his own hobbit hole.

Dirt and mud were everywhere, tracks across his wooden floors and rugs, with many pieces of his good furniture being used as coat and weapon racks! “What is going on?” He asked to no one in particular, as the group of dwarves seemed gleefully unaware at the amount of damage they’d caused. As Bilbo took hesitant steps closer, Balin closed the door at his back and walked ahead, into his dining room that was now a centerpiece of a dwarf meal. A meal from his pantry and garden, no doubt. Frustratedly, Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, stopped his foot while mumbling a few, incoherent curses under his breathe.

“What’s wrong with the hobbit?”

“Is he having a fit?”

“No-” Bilbo started, opening his eyes to finally get a better look at the group of them. “No. I simply wish you would have asked…” He started to scold the lot of them, but he was drowned out by excited shouts and the start of songs. He hadn’t the wherewithal to combat these dwarves any further. 

Bilbo needed a drink, and no tea was going to calm his nerves. “Would one of you get me an ale?” The question got a cheer from them all, and handed Bilbo a stout mug. 

After a few refills and a bit more shouting to be cautious with the dishes, Bilbo all but forgot about the days stress. Instead he was merrily scolding the lads, specifically a mischievous pair, who Bilbo learned were Fili and Kili, who had a fondness for tossing his plates. He’d all but threatened to tell their mother about their ill behavior, and incredibly the threat had taken hold and both had calmed. 

Just as Bilbo was resting his head on the table, and a long yawn was elicited from his swimming head, a heavy knock came from the door. Momentarily, Bilbo had forgotten that this was actually his residence and a proper hobbit would answer his own door, but after the second series of knocks, and the hushing of the others, Bilbo propped himself up and started for the door. He opened it, and almost immediately sobered. 

“Thorin…” 

His expression was harsh, heavy and tired as he stepped past Bilbo to get inside, not even addressing the now hiccuping Hobbit. “Who’s responsible for this?” He asked, pointing at Bilbo in a way that made the hobbit gruffly stomp a foot. “And who… is responsible for the garden?” 

The started in at once: Bilbo being the point person to whom all their complaints were made. The hobbit said they could have the vegetables within. The hobbit brought them over. The hobbit stopped from the bartering for supplies in the market. The hobbit this, the hobbit that. 

“Enough,” Bilbo growled into his mug of ale, after finally resigning himself to sitting with the dwarves for dinner. “Enough!” This time, with a heat in his belly, Bilbo’s voice carried over the roar of the dwarves. “Stop speaking as if I am not here!” Bilbo stomped another foot, looking at all thirteen of the dwarves now inhabiting his home. “Those things I did say, but you all did not heed my words when I asked you to at least let me pick them off! I do not appreciate how you pillaged, no destroyed, my garden, and then you come into my home, without permission mind you, and raid my pantry!” 

“Come now, Master Baggins…”

“And you!” His finger pointing incredulously in Thorin’s direction. He took a few steps forward and finally closed the distance between them, turning vivid emeralds up to glare daggers at the taller dwarf. He had scantily noticed the sudden stillness, the stunned silence from the otherwise rowdy dwarves. 

Thorin took a single step back, and Bilbo jumped on that as a sign weakness. “How dare you! Come into my home, interrupt my meals, and then… then-!” A frustrated laugh showed he was far from finished, and the venom continued, “Then you decide my fate, as if I am no part of the equation! What nerve!” The words continued from spilling from his mouth as easily as he’d poured a glass of ale, “You think you can demand me and bend my will, but I will have you know, that’s quite simply not how it works! I won’t be going anywhere with you, not for all the gold in your Kingdom, or, or any Kingdom for that matter! Not now and not… not ever!” What absolute silence had come over Bad End, as Bilbo’s scolding finally came to a halt. The tirade that had finally come to an end, and Thorin took a single step forward.

“Quiet, Master Baggins.” Thorin’s voice rumbled through the still like a crack of lightening. Bilbo felt the urge to speak out again, if only to defy the orders just placed on him, but something in Thorin’s tone had his mouth sealed shut. Green eyes flickered up, trying to read the expression that had suddenly etched itself into Thorin’s features. Stern, brows knitted with what Bilbo thought was concern or worry. Perhaps fear, the more Bilbo studied him the more difficult it was to place. He had only a few moments to really look, however, as his gaze began to turn across the rest of the company. 

The atmosphere of the party, that shifted to awkward silence after his shouting, was now tense, as if a veil had laid over the entirely of Bag End and threatened to drown its inhabitants. Bilbo felt a shudder rippled down his spine, and for a brief moment he was frozen in place. The hairs on the back of his neck, down to the smallest of his toes were standing on end. His breathing had gone shallow, nerves acutely aware that the dwarves were no longer looking at him, but just beyond him, at something unnamed that stood just past his shoulder. A sudden sensation that he was being watched, that a shadow was hovering over him had the entirety of Bilbo’s small frame going ridged. 

A cold fell over the petite hobbit, chilling him to the very core and leaving him as empty as his garden. 

He swallowed down nerves and began a slow turn. When he finally looked back, however, there was nothing. Nothing but his home with all its knick-knacks and circle windows, dirt tracks still fresh. Relief washed over him in the form of a heavy sigh. “Just what were you all looking at?” He questioned the many dwarves, who all seemed to be still be stiff with fright.

It happened suddenly, Thorin grabbing his arm, ripping his body forward until he was flush against the dwarf’s chest. Bilbo nearly panicked at the sudden closeness, the sudden heat that spread to every inch of his body. He hadn’t time to push the dwarf away, as Thorin's arm wound forcefully across his shoulders, pulling the hobbit in, placing himself between Bilbo and the empty doorway. “Thorin?” Small fingers tentatively brushed the details stone of Thorin’s shirt, and the dwarf’s grip tightened across his shoulders. Bilbo had not felt so small since he was a child, “What’s going on?”

“We need to leave.”

“What-?”

“Mister Baggins,” Thorin was not looking at him, but over him again, as though there was something standing in his doorway that Bilbo’s eyes could not see. The dwarf King’s voice was strained as if to conceal a lingering fear. Just what had they seen? Finally, stone blues looked down, and caught Bilbo in a fierce gaze. The hobbit all but flinched as Thorin placed a kind hand on the mop of curls. Like he had out in the garden, tender and gentle. But this was much different. Everything was different. “You are no longer safe here.” His eyes looked past him once again, out his window, out to the unknown. “Pack your things, we leave tonight.”


	6. A Swift Exit

Chaos broke out within the group, and all erupted from the table at once. Bellowing shouts from stout dwarves and the clacking of good plates against one another, the dwarves began to file back towards the entranceway. With a slight shuffle of bare feet, Bilbo flushed himself against Thorin, if only to avoid the stampede of dwarves that soon rushed toward them. As the dust began to settle, and dwarves were off to packing and ransacking his pantry for a second time that night, Bilbo let out a sigh, his forehead pressed against the cool tile of Thorin’s armor. 

Many questions still lingered on his tongue, so many that he couldn’t find the mind to straighten them all out. Instead, Bilbo remained quiet, and watched as the rest frantically went about their business. The pair stood silent for a moment longer, a lingering second that had Bilbo’s fast beating heart relaxing. He would not admit it, not for all the tea or ale in the Shire, but he felt safe within the dwarf’s arms. There, he did not think harm would come upon him.

It was when Thorin cleared his throat that Bilbo’s attention was brought back up to him. The dwarf released the smaller body, brushing down his coat while putting a steps distance between them. “What... happened?” Bilbo finally asked, but was swiftly ignored, passed on for what the hobbit only assumed were more pressing matters.

Thorin was quick to step away, join into hushed conversations, in a tongue that Bilbo could not hope to decipher. He had prided himself on knowing many things: of reading books and having a pale understanding of what went on outside the safety of the Shire. He had thought he knew, but tonight was proving he hadn’t the faintest of ideas.

Dwarfs passed by in a blur of cloaks and daggers, clacks of steel and grumbling voices, one stepping right on Bilbo’s toe, earning a startled shout: it was enough to pull him from his reverie. 

“Just… what is going on?!”

Bilbo shouted for what felt like the hundredth time that night, watching as the crowd of dwarves began to disperse, all swiftly packing and throwing random bits into their packs. Bilbo was certain he saw one of them stuff his butter knife into their pocket, but decided against saying anything. They were, for the most part, tidying up his home. Eager to keep sticky fingers at bay, Bilbo collected a pot into his arms, clutching it to his chest to protect it, as well to act as a shield. 

“Master Boggins!” Kíli gave a sharp bark from behind him, startling the small Hobbit back against the wall. “Watch it now, don’t get yourself stepped on.” Bilbo all but growled, and while the dwarf tried to show a smile, dark brows were knitted in concern. It set Bilbo’s heart racing again, his nerves suddenly on edge.

“Baggins,” He found himself muttering, though only half-heartedly as he witnessed the fear etched into the young dwarf’s face. They all held the same grim expression while packing. Gone were the joyous songs and rambunctious gathering— the atmosphere in Bag End was now heavy, and Bilbo did not understand its cause. “Kíli… right?” He asked the young dwarf in a hushed voice, “Will you tell me what is going on?”

“Aye, Master Hobbit” The young dwarf began to mutter, and Bilbo felt himself lean closer, as if he might finally get an answer. “We have to go.” Dark brown eyes looked between the hobbit and other dwarves, fidgeting uneasily. “You know, just pack everything. I really need to-“

He felt a jolt and turned his attention back down to the tiny hobbit, whose hand was now tugging the end of his shirt. Bilbo looked confused and annoyed, but most strikingly, he looked frightened. Kili paused in the rambling, and for the first time all night actually looked at the hobbit. Bilbo was the first hobbit he’d ever seen, now that he was thinking about it. He’d lived with a hatred of elves and a love for his own kind. He’d occasionally seen a man, but hobbits only ever came up in stories. Keeping to themselves, never venturing outside of their homes, peaceful little folk. His Mother had called them Halflings all his life, but he only appreciated that name now. Small and practically hairless, not even a hint of a beard. Like a child. “No need to worry,” Kili added warmly, “We’ll protect you!” He beamed it, clasping a hand to Bilbo’s shoulder, “Besides, looks like Uncle Thorin’s a bit taken with you and-“

“Nonsense.” Bilbo interrupted him to diminishing that silly thinking, pushing Kili’s kindness aside. “Though I do appreciate your gesture, I am more than able to take care of myself.“

“Come now, Master Baggins! I bet you’ve never even seen a sword,” Kili’s grin grew wider as Bilbo’s expression soured. The dwarf laughed heartedly, “No offense, ‘o course! But you sure are soft folk in the Shire.” Bilbo shook his head, had a mind to disagree, but he just chewed on the inside of his cheek. These dwarves hadn’t an ounce of tact between them.

Kili’s warm chocolate eyes fell to the pot clutched in the hobbit’s arms. After a brief second, he grinned wider, “That’d an odd thing to bring on a journey, Master Bagg-“

“Kili.” Bilbo interrupted him, with a curt wave of his arms, a gentle but firm gesture, “Listen to me. For a moment.” He fumbled with the pottery, idly placing it back onto the small table where it belonged, “What is it that has got you all so frightened? What was in my home?” Bilbo’s frustration with the trail this conversation had followed was evident in his tone.

“Kíli.” Thorin’s voice cut through Bilbo’s thoughts, and before he could say a thing, the younger boy’s mouth shut instantly. Kili’s face sobered near instantly, the sparkle and youth from his eyes seemingly vanished at Thorin’s call. He ran along and continued to gather their supplies, receiving harsh sounding words from the blond he had walked in with. One Bilbo could only assume them brothers, what with their names. 

So, yet again, he was standing in his own hallway, feeling like a stranger in his own home.

Grumbling under his breath, Bilbo picked up the last dirty plate left on the table, moving into the kitchen to absentmindedly wash it. Keeping some normalcy until this day finally ended. That was Bilbo’s intention: to wait until all the dwarves, all caught up in their own going ons, to leave his home and leave him behind. He didn’t think it a stretch to be forgotten by this bunch, as it was. 

“Master hobbit.” The hobbit in question all but jumped as Thorin crept up behind him, the deep and rumbling voice making him all but shutter. How he hadn’t noticed the clanging of armor or the stomps of boots managed to cross his mind, but the dwarf that had suddenly stepped closer immediately caused every other thought to vanish. 

“Yes?” He managed to pip out, clearing his throat of the embarrassing squeak. 

“You are not packing.”

“How observant of you.” Bilbo’s attention remained on the plate, which was now scrubbed clean. 

“You should be.” Spoken in a tone of demand, as if he didn’t understand Bilbo’s hesitation. 

“Maybe I could be packing,” He couldn’t believe he’d even said that, even entertained the thought, “If you would tell me why.” 

“It is unsafe for you to stay, so get your belongings together.” Thorin turned to leave, as if the conversation was over and Bilbo would simple obey. 

Finally, his hand shot out to take hold on Thorin’s wrist, stopping the dwarf, if only momentarily. “Now, why do you say that?” Before Thorin could comment, Bilbo continued, “Tell me.” His voice held a tone of worry, but the strength remained, “You said I was not safe. I have a right to know… what you’ve gotten me involved with.”

“Yes, yes you do.” Thorin started, in quiet thought as he considered the hobbit. The seconds ticked on before Thorin finally spoke, “There is a shadow following us. One that we have seen lingering at a distance, but never so close. Tonight... it invaded your home.” 

“And… this shadow? Who…?”

“That, we do not know.” Bilbo attempted to judge if this was truth, in the end he took Thorin’s word for it. But if all the dwarves looked so unnerved, it must be something. They must know to fear it.

“If you would come work as my Gardner, I will pay you handsomely, Mister Baggins.” 

Bilbo’s entire frame went rigid, eyes widening at the statement, “On to this again? My, you are you thick! Do you really think I’d want to come with you? After all of this? After what your dwarves put me through? My reputation is tarnished, my garden in ruins- I don’t see how your kind could even begin a garden, let alone maintain it! I certainly am not going to play the role of a dwarf wrangler as we-”

“Mister Baggins,” Thorin tried again, now squeezing the bridge of his nose with frustration, but Bilbo continued to berate him, chime on and on about how he would not even think of going. The dwarf felt his last nerve pinched and he grabbed Bilbo’s shoulders roughly, turning him so the hobbit was forced to look at the Dwarf King. “Master Hobbit.” It silenced the string of insults and Bilbo stared up, fingers tightened into tiny fists, “I am… attempting to make this a cordial invitation.” The annoyance was bubbled up, but Thorin kept himself collected, “Come with me, or your safety will be compromised.” 

For the first time all night, Bilbo received clarity. 

It came together very quickly, and he was surprised it had actually taken him so long. The dwarves had gotten him mixed up in their problems. 

“Oh.” The realization came fast, and the seriousness of the situation seemed to finally make it’s impact. If he didn’t go with these dwarves, this shadow could linger with him. It could stay in the Shire. 

The plate made a gentle plop into a soapy water as Bilbo dropped it, stepping away from Thorin. “You put me in danger.” Not a question, “My home, the Shire.” Thorin did not answer, but it was enough to relieve Bilbo's questions. 

Overwhelmed, Bilbo slowly moved across the room, ducking out of the way of anyone who might have tried to scramble by. He was still for a moment, but realization began to dawn in slow waves. 

He needed to pack. 

He’d be leaving with the dwarves. Steps were slow, automatic. He reached his kitchen, which was amazingly in a decent state, and stepped up to a row of cabinets. Small pots in a neat cupboard, tucked away from most wandering eyes, had remained untouched. Each pot had collections of seeds from last years harvest, small labels in neat writing to distinguish herb from vegetable and fruit. Bilbo collected them all together, quietly wondering what the morning would bring.

 

\----- 

 

The morning came and day followed, but the company of dwarves, plus one reluctant hobbit, were already well into their journey. The sun had perked over the 

Left in Bag End was a note for Gamgee, with instructions to keep Bag End tended until his return, and a bit of coin and pipeweed as compensation. Bilbo could only hope it found its way to him, and not into the hands of Lobelia or someone similarly greedy. 

He still could not believe he was doing this, following this troop of strangers into the wild. The dwarves had not guaranteed him protection, not by any means, but still he followed.The Shadow they spoke of seemed like a far-fetched figure. And in the aftermath of last night, after sleep and deep thinking, Bilbo wasn’t even certain he could believe it existed. 

What if this entire thing was just an elaborate scam? 

“You’ll very much like Erebor, Master Bilbo!” Kili said excitedly, pulling Bilbo from his thoughts, “My mother will love the garden you make, I’m certain!” 

“With all your talk of loving gardens,” Bilbo said, “You lot certainly have no love of growing things.” 

“Oh, but we do!” It was Fili who had spoken now, and Bilbo turned back to get a better look at the blond. He had managed to put a face to each name, the brothers certainly the most vibrant. 

“The way you lot destroyed my garden was as though you’d never grown a thing in your lives!” Bilbo laughed at his own joke, but no other laughter came.

“We never have.”

Bilbo hesitated, feeling the pony jerk beneath him. “What?”

“Never got a single thing to grow, my boy.” It was an older dwarf who spoke now, and Bilbo had to grasp at the very ends of his memory to recall the name Gloin. He had a stern way about him, with a rough gaze and a beard so thick Bilbo thought he’d seen a creature of two nesting within it.

Absentmindedly, his hand reached up to touch his bare chin, “Never?” He questioned again, quietly prodding for a bit more information about the company he now found himself in.

“We have gotten a sprout!” Kíli said from the head of the group, turning around to give Bilbo the biggest smile he’d ever witnessed on a dwarf. So contagious, Bilbo offered a small smile in return.

“Aye, a sprout.” Balin mussed, giving his pony a sharp kick to take up the empty spot Bilbo. “A sprout, and nay more. The last thing to grow in Erebor shriveled before it was an inch. Cursed soil, they say.”

Well, that made sense.

“Even a skilled Gardener can do nothing with cursed soil. If it’s indeed true.” He felt thirteen sets of eyes upon him, and Bilbo shrank closer to the pony, “I will try my best, though.” 

Bilbo really had his work cut out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos! I hope you had a wonderful New Years, and enjoy this new chapter!


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